


Tinker, Tallmadge, Soldier, Spy

by blueteak



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Power Imbalance, Spying, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 09:17:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5491874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueteak/pseuds/blueteak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben attempts to attend a ball while undercover as a woman. Washington intercepts him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tinker, Tallmadge, Soldier, Spy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MotherHulda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherHulda/gifts).



Of course the summons from Washington arrived just as Ben was pulling on his worn, grey travelling cloak. Well, not *his* worn, grey travelling cloak, but rather Mrs. Jeffords’. She’d looked at him askance when he’d asked for it, telling him it had been the only thing that kept her from freezing to death during that winter at Valley Forge and she had formed an attachment to it. But in the end she’d given it to him, sighing that he was like a son to her and she couldn’t deny him. And, being used to his ways, she hadn’t asked him what it was for, not even once. 

As Ben tugged the cloak down further, hoping to hide his dark blue gown from the eyes of the gaping twelve year old messenger, who asked once more whether he was sure that he was Major Tallmadge, he attempted to determine the likelihood of eventually making his way to the ball (nil. And he’d have to take off one of shis own petticoats to signal the meet was off, too), as well as his prospects for having time to remove this attire before Washington became impatient and sought him out in his own tent (also nil). 

There was nothing for it. Ben would rather traipse through camp in his (according to Caleb) rather becoming gown, enduring potential jeers (but more likely groping, his inner Caleb voice assured him) from Bradford’s men than have Washington seek him out in his own tent. The walls were thicker in Washington’s tent. He fumbled with his laces, removed the petticoat, signaled frantically, and was on his way to Washington only ten minutes later than he’d anticipated.

To his surprise, he was able to walk through camp unmolested. The disguise really had worked! Perhaps he could try again in a fortnight, though Major Andre himself would be at the next ball, and Ben couldn’t hope that the major’s own network had not circulated an accurate description of him, especially after Sutherland's escape. Then again, they wouldn’t be expecting him in a dress. 

Neither had Billy Lee. He barred the way to Washington’s tent, begging her pardon, but His Excellency was expecting a briefing from Major Tallmadge. 

Ben didn’t know what it meant that Billy took several more steps away from the tent than he usually did after he’d realized it was Ben and announced him.

Washington only made him wait for thirty seconds before looking up from his correspondence, which meant that he wasn’t angry with Ben about anything (yet).

Washington’s eyes widened so slightly that few but Ben would have noticed as his gaze travelled down to where the shape of the gown flared under Ben’s cloak.

Ben stood still, attempting not to breathe, aware of the corset restraining him with every breath he couldn't help but take. Though he knew Washington well enough to know just how deeply he was being scrutinized, he didn’t know just what that look meant. Or whether this evening would end with the two of them sharing a bed or Ben being sent to bed alone, and then to Boston, as had been threatened once before.  
Washington rose and came toward him, maneuvering gracefully around the desk (he was an excellent dancer, Ben had been told, though he had never seen it). Ben forced himself not to close his eyes as his breathing quickened and sweat trickled down the back of his gown. 

Ben did close his eyes momentarily when Washington got so close he could smell his soap, and reached out to touch the travelling cloak. 

“You’re out of uniform, Major Tallmadge.”

“Yes, sir.” No explanation, no apologies. He’d learned from the last time. Well, times, really.

“And is this….Mrs. Jeffords’ cloak?” Washington asked, reaching down to unclasp and remove it.

Ben couldn’t help arching slightly into those hands, even though he was not yet certain of what they would deliver.

“Yes, sir.”

“The cloak that got her through the winter at Valley Forge?”

“Yes, sir.”

Washington’s eyes glimmered with a hint of amusement, either at the cloak situation or at Ben’s seeming determination to withstand interrogation politely. 

“And why did she give it to you, Tallmadge?”

Washington clearly wanted him to reveal the entire plan with his answer to that question. Shivering in his sweat-damp gown, Ben was filled with the perverse desire to make him work for it, as though Washington couldn’t crush him with one of his massive hands and make him talk. As though, were he not interested in seeing if they could play a game tonight, his respect for Washington wouldn’t have him revealing all within a second in any event.

Ben took a deep breath, having forgotten the constraints of the corset. “She said it was because I was like a son to her. Sir.”

Washington’s lip twitched. Just barely. “Yes, I see.” He circled around, placing a hand on the dress's pad—Ben couldn’t remember the name of it—used to enhance his rear. “And what is this?” he asked, giving the item a squeeze that Ben swore he could feel as though there were no padding between his flesh and Washington's hand. "Are you going to tell me that this is a secret prototype of Sackett’s, perhaps, that you are testing in camp? Pray tell me, what does it do? Will it produce a quantity of invisible ink if I squeeze it hard enough?” And with that, there was more squeezing. 

This was going to be more difficult, as well as more fun, than Ben had thought. “No, sir,” he said trying not to gulp. 

“No?” Washington inquired politely while reaching under Ben’s skirts to remove the pad. “I will set it aside and move on to the next, then. I'm certain some of them must have additional uses.”

He held Ben’s skirts up with one hand while tugging on his remaining petticoats with the other, leaving Ben half hard and exposed, flushing red even in the cool air. 

“And what, Tallmadge, do these do?” He made Ben step out of the petticoats and then mercifully allowed the skirt to fall. “Will they start a fire in the wilderness if I rub them together?”

“No, sir,” Ben croaked. 

“I thought not. And you are missing a petticoat, I see….perhaps this one?” he asked, stepping back and producing the signaling petticoat from a desk drawer. The game was up. Ben said nothing. Then again, with a face as expressive as his, he’d been told he didn’t need to use words at all. 

“Hmmm,” Washington murmured, allowing a trace of amusement at Ben’s expression to shine through before once again projecting the attitude of aloof commander. 

“Did you think, Tallmadge, that with a poker face like that you would best be served by going to a ball behind enemy lines?”

This was not going the direction Ben had thought it would. “After everything that’s happened with Culper, sir, I feel it my duty to undertake some of the same risks as my agents,” he said, puffing out his chest before wincing when the corset dug into him again. 

“Commendable, Major” was Washington’s soft reply. 

“So am I going to be attending this ball, sir?” he asked defiantly, aware of how ridiculous the request sounded after he'd been thoroughly exposed. 

“No,” Washington replied in the same soft voice. “You will be bending over this desk and thinking about the consequences of unauthorized missions behind enemy lines.”

Ben’s breath caught, stuck between indignation and arousal. “Sir! I’m your head of intelligence! I understood I didn’t need your official permission to undertake necessary missions!”  
“And that is one of the reasons that this is not an official reprimand, Major.” Washington replied, a hint of a smile in his voice. “But you do know,” he said seriously, “That you must always answer to me for your unauthorized undertakings, and that I am always the judge of whether it was worth the risk?”

“Yes, sir.” Ben said, somewhat mollified. 

“Tell me, Tallmadge, would tonight have been worth the risk?”

“Yes! I believed the Shippens and Major Hewlett would be there”

Washington stiffened. “You would have attended the ball knowing someone who could identify you by sight would be there?”

“Well,” Ben said, retreating. “I would have hesitated had it been Major Andre, but Hewlett and I have a history.”

Washington nodded, seemingly lost in thought, and then reached out a hand lightning-quick and pulled Ben toward him, making him stumble over his shoes. “Not enough history to save your neck,” he said, voice rough, as though he'd strangled on the thought. 

“He wouldn’t! I wouldn’t have been caught—“

Washington covered Ben’s mouth, then slid his hand down to Ben’s throat, pressing lightly. Ben struggled at first, instinctively, then relaxed into it as he was held tighter. Washington wasn’t pressing hard; that large hand was just there, a hint of the danger that could have come. And this…this was making his cock stand up and take notice again. 

“Your face is a window to your every thought,” Washington whispered into his ear. “You would have been caught.” He released Ben then, and pushed him toward the desk. “And you would have been hanged as a spy," he proclaimed, as though he could see the future. “That dress may be blue, but it’s far from your uniform, becoming though it may be on you. I have Nathan Hale’s death on my conscience; I won’t have yours.”

At that, Ben whirled around to face Washington, mouth open to voice thoughts he couldn’t quite untangle.

It didn't matter. Washington read the half-formed thoughts on his face, muttered something about them demonstrating he'd been right (touché), and pulled him in by his dress for a kiss. 

After they’d spent some time becoming acquainted with the benefits of dresses vs. breeches, Washington once again nudged Ben over to the desk. 

“Is it still meant to be a punishment?” he asked, hating how clearly his voice revealed that he wasn’t horrified by the idea. Being bent over, held down, and made to take it, perhaps without adequate preparation, sounded appealing in theory. It would burn, and he would feel it for a week, much like he would a thrashing. 

“Would you like it to be?” Washington asked, *his* voice irritatingly giving none of his own preferences away. 

Ben nodded slightly. This clearly wasn’t a real punishment, which would be mortifying, but it wasn’t entirely playacting, either. He didn’t know what it was, exactly, and wondered whether he would dare ask Caleb later. 

Washington nodded back, then manhandled him over the desk and flipped up his dress, ordering him to hold it up with one hand. Ben closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy anticipation. Even the corset digging into him enhanced his enjoyment, now. How much would it hurt? When? And for how long? Would he be lectured in time with the thrusts?

Washington kept him there, bent over, legs spread wide while he rustled around the office for what felt like ten minutes but was probably only sixty seconds. 

In the end, Ben felt a little more of a burn when Washington (finally) entered him, and he was lectured about how they couldn’t do this if Ben happened to be caught, which he would be if he took foolish risks like had been about to, and so on, but the only pain came from where the corner of the desk had dug into his hips. If only the dress had featured padding around them. 

No, instead of causing him pain, Washington had delayed his release, had in fact brought him to the brink of sobbing with the need of it, and then finally let him have it, making him shake apart over papers he hoped were not important and also ruining his dress into the bargain. 

After, though he wasn’t sure he could expect an answer, Ben had asked why Washington hadn’t hurt him. 

Washington had drawn Ben closer, rubbing his back (he seemed to enjoy Ben in silk more than he wanted known). “You were expecting pain,” he explained. “I felt you tense whenever I touched you. And you shouldn’t deliver what someone expects, in these cases, which is all part of the larger lesson.”

Something in his eyes made Ben think there was another reason, but he knew it would be useless to press tonight. And besides, he had a lesson of his own to teach. He pulled out some of his dress’s padding and hit Washington in the face with it. He surely hadn’t expected that.


End file.
